


Semper Fi

by Rivalshipping_Archive (rivalshipping)



Series: A Man and His Dog [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Epilepsy, Fluff, Gen, descriptions of seizures, sherlock loves his dog and his dog loves him, so john holmes sort of, technically not john watson because he is a seizure dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivalshipping/pseuds/Rivalshipping_Archive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To fill a prompt at the BBC Sherlock meme: <i>Dog!John is Sherlock's Medical-Alert/Response Service Animal</i></p><p>The adventures of John and Sherlock. Thank you to RowlingChick1995 and impossiblyimprobable (who I previously overshadowed!! so sorry!) for the title xx</p>
            </blockquote>





	Semper Fi

Everyone turned to look when Sherlock showed up to the crime scene pale and quiet, without any of his usual flare. His hands were in his pockets and his head was down. John, his golden Labrador med alert dog, was watching him carefully with almost too-intelligent eyes, shadowing his movements.

“You’re back again, Freak,” Sally commented, lifting up the police tape to let him through. Sherlock’s eyes met hers for a moment, and then he looked away again. They were all silent after that.

Sherlock kneeled next to the murder victim, pulling on rubber gloves in preparation to touch him. John sat almost motionless by his side, shifting ever so slightly whenever his lead was pulled. “What do you think, John?” Sherlock asked at one point, so quietly that the closest techs thought they were mistaken in hearing it.

John padded over to him and nudged his shoulder. Sherlock managed a smile, pulling off his gloves. He cleared his throat and stood upright. “He is unmarried, office worker, doesn’t have many nights out at the pub. He was a gambler. He didn’t pay up.” He paused, absently petting John’s head, and then turned in a small circle. “Where’s Lestrade?”

“Lestrade isn’t here,” an unfamiliar voice answered. Sherlock studied the shorter, unassuming man, drawing himself up a bit in defense. John stood close to him in support. “DI Dimmock. I’ll be running this case.” He frowned, his eyes on John. “What the hell is a dog doing here?”

“He’s with me,” Sherlock muttered, his hand on John’s head again. It would seem a bit odd to a new detective inspector—Sherlock usually refused to make John wear his vest with his job description on it, instead using one that was more comfortable on him and still had room for Sherlock’s information. Unfortunately, it wasn’t medical training issued, and it didn’t have any sort of “medical alert dog” markings on it. After two years with John as his seizure dog, he had become almost attuned to his attitude, and could tell when he was ill at ease with something.

Dimmock’s frown deepened. “Lestrade told me about you. Said you like to solve cases.” He sniffed disdainfully. “Didn’t tell me you would be bringing your pets around.”

Sherlock sighed heavily. “Yes, well, that isn’t my problem, is it?” He looked long-sufferingly at the ground before meeting Dimmock’s eyes again. “Do you want to hear what I’ve got or no?”

The DI sneered at him. “Not until you tell me why the dog is here.” He reached out to John, his gaze angry. It seemed he wanted to drag John off.

John growled at him, sticking by Sherlock’s side, and the detective took a step back. “Are you an idiot? You don’t touch a working dog,” he hissed, seeming to go even paler.

Donovan was at his elbow by then, looking oddly protective. “He’s had an episode today, Detective Inspector. I would advise you not to aggravate him.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, Sally,” Sherlock half-complimented. “It was lovely meeting you, Detective Inspector, but I really must be—“ He cut off, his eyes wide and his body tense, and John started barking. Sally caught him before he could fall to the pavement, her phone already out to call for an ambulance. John pushed his back with his muzzle, making sure he was turned on his side, and stayed up by his head, gently nosing his inky curls away from his face.

Dimmock seemed at a loss for words, simply staring down at Sherlock for the full thirty seconds of his second seizure of the night. Sherlock gasped for breath at the end of it, his eyes clenched shut and his fingers entwined in John’s short, soft fur. “Don’t just stand there, you idiot,” he slurred, curling up further in his jacket. “Call an ambulance.”

“I already have,” Sally muttered, looking impatiently at her watch. “I knew we shouldn’t have called you, Freak.”

Sherlock groaned, rhythmically smoothing John’s ruffled fur with a shaky hand. “John was trying to tell me I shouldn’t have come. He would barely stay still for me to put on his lead.” His breathing was more controlled and his words were becoming clearer. John seemed to take solace in this, lying down beside Sherlock and licking his forehead with one loving swipe. “I should have listened.”

John barked once, which to Sherlock translated as “you should have, idiot,” and he laughed. A small smile came to his lips at the sound of the ambulance. “Sorry, John. I promise to listen next time.”

A wet nose to his cheek (“no, you won’t, but I still love you”) made his smile wider, and he managed to open his eyes. “You’re not perfect either. You’re simply lousy at making tea.”

Dimmock pressed his lips together, taking a step back. “Does this happen often?”

Sherlock sat up, holding his head in his hands. John nudged his way under his arm, asking for a hug that they both needed. “Once or twice a case,” he responded, allowing John to settle himself in his lap. “Nothing too strenuous.” He tilted his head, thinking back. “Three or four times, if Anderson’s working it.”

An indignant “what?” made its way from the back of the crime scene and Sherlock groaned again. “That explains two in a row, doesn’t it?” he asked John, who nuzzled closer to him. “Anyway, Dimmock, you’re looking for a bookie. Have fun.”

Dimmock didn’t think dogs could look amused, but John certainly did.


End file.
